Holding my breath...

Fifteen years ago this little boy of ours was born. I never thought we'd ever succeed at having a child; I was 32 years old when we 'started' to have our family. By the time I turned 37 I was desperately hoping to have a child soon (not wanting to be a 'senior' parent). As you might imagine, John's arrival four days after my 37th birthday was incredible even though he was a month early! With his being a preemie, every night when I went to bed I would hope and pray that nothing would happen in the middle of the night. Each morning when I was beckoned to his crib by his wake up cry for food, I was always so relieved and joyous that nothing bad had happened. I don't remember how many years I went through this; at least until he was 2 or 3 years old. Now, at 15 years old, I still find myself 'holding my breath', but for different reasons. I hope he never hooks up with bad elements. I hope he never gets hooked on drugs. I hope he doesn't get into an accident. I hope he does well in school. The list of anxieties goes on and on. I think the list gets bigger when they become teenagers! I'm told by others whose children are now adults that this sort of anxiety never goes away. Dammit! I never imagined that 15 years could go by so quickly. I never imagined that the baby that came home with me that barely weighed in at 4 pounds 1/2 ounce is now a towering five foot eleven and a half inches tall weighing in at around 155 lbs! Children have no idea how much their parents are able to love them. Nope, this must be by design for some divine reason that escapes me. It's not until you have children of your own that that light bulb goes off. So, here's to that preemie that came into my life 15 years ago and took it over for good! Happy, happy birthday John! Love, Mom

Against all odds

So here we are, the three of us after a lovely brunch yesterday. I haven't gone to brunch in a decade or so, I think. It was the most perfect fall day one could ask for; not too hot and not too cold. The sunlight was beautiful on the cottonwood trees that are turning yellow.

52 years ago, whe my mom was about 5 months pregnant with me, her "food tubes" became gangerene (sp?) and they caught it just before it went systemic. I believe she was hospitalized for this and was given a heavy course of antibiotics.

Then, when she was 7 months pregnant with me, she was attacked in her home while asleep (dad was away at boot camp). Very traumatic event, and I'm sure she was given a drug that we know as "DES" (the name is too long to spell here) to keep me from coming too early. 'Preemies' back in the '50s did not have a good survival rate. But, survive I did.

At four years of age, I got into a brand new bottle of St. Joseph's baby aspirin (yep, it was on the highest shelf in the cupboard, but I could climb anything like a monkey). I remember getting it and opening it up and eating some. Guess I ate the whole bottle, mom tells me. She thought I was acting strangely and then noticed the orange on the sides of my mouth. She found the empty bottle and I was rushed to the hospital to have my stomach pumped. Had she discovered this 15 or 20 minutes later, I would not be here right now.

So, I suppose that's at least three times that I escaped death; I'm very, very lucky to be here today as I think I've survived a few events against all odds. I think that makes the perspective of celebrating life even sweeter. Against all odds.

Last one home is a green pig

This is another image from my "Goddess " book called "Sweet Slumber". The quote is, "Oh, sweet slumber! When the dreams are too choice to awaken." I don't know who to credit the quote with, although it does seem a bit Shakespearish. There is no connect to this image and the title for today's blog. In case you were wondering. The title is from a book from our (the Mondoy kids) childhood. Yes, that IS the title of the book. The author is Edith Thacher Hurd and the artist is Clement Hurd. It was published in 1959 by Harper and Row and is a development and enlargement of an idea used in a book entitled THE RACE. In the book, the duck challenges the monkey to race each other home. During the race, of course each one would find a way to give themselves an advantage over the other (by hitching a ride on bikes, trains, boats, planes, and so forth). The duck lost the race and upon loosing, asked the monkey if he looked like a green pig. The monkey says, "Oh, no, you look like a duck. But of course I DID win." "Yes," said the Duck. "You did, but not by much. Let's have another race tomorrow." It was one of our favorites because of the theme of a race. I have four brothers and boys are competitive, no matter what. Whenever we were headed back home from hiking and playing around in the gully or the farther reaches of our yard or property, we would often say, "Last one home is a green pig!". That was the gauntlet being thrown in to see who could be the first one home. It made the game of racing home much more exciting because no one wanted to be a green pig! I don't know if there was a message or moral to the story. If there was, I suppose it would be that whether we win or loose a competition, it is just a game and we shouldn't let it change us. After all, no one looks like a green pig, do they?

The Journey Angel

She is one of the many angels I have with me in this journey called 'life'. When I was down in Puerto Vallarta two years ago, I started a little book called,"The Book of Goddesses". It is just visual images celebrating the many forms that goddesses take. I will be posting some of the other goddess images from this work in progress at my Flickr site. There are so many times in our lives when we feel so isolated, so all alone. If, at that bleak moment in time, we could reconnect ourselves with all the feelings and emotions that belong to humanity, we would realize that we are not alone, no matter how deperate the situation may seem. So, the quote is, "You need not feel alone, the journey makes us one." Hold onto this thought and remember it in your darkest moments. It will be the light that will take you out of that darkness...

Flores para Emiliana

(flowers for Emily). She's interned at Punchbowl cemetary in Honolulu, Hawaii. Since I can't go 'visit' her, I get flowers and cast them off in the Rio Grande River. It's not the same, but it's a ritual that helps to fill that gap... Here's to Emily! My kindred spirit, my mom.